


Rebels and Glitz

by kickstart_myheart



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Canon Typical Content, Class Differences, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, Intrusive Thoughts, Lime, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Canon, Romance, Secret Relationship, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Content, Underage Substance Use, Unsafe Scenarios, a moody fanfic, alcoholic parents, dark sap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2020-07-11 22:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19935826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickstart_myheart/pseuds/kickstart_myheart
Summary: The possibly inevitable drift towards each other after that fateful detention on Saturday, March 24, 1984. (Claire/John centric.) (Background Allison/Andy.)





	1. glimmer

Blondes used to be his type.

The posters on his wall comprised busty rock babes in skimpy shorts, women with guitars and big fuck you and fuck the world attitudes that got him hot. God bless Lita Ford.

But Saturday had blown a hole through his mojo. He'd shown up to that stupid detention so the old man wouldn't beat his ass if the school called the house and so he figured well, if he had to rot in the same room with two members of the yuppie brigade for eight hours, why not torment the piss out of them to pass time? They bothered everyone else throughout the week with their hypocrisy and their daily do-goody pestilence, anyway.

He never in a million years expected to catch looks of genuine, doe eyed curiosity from Claire Standish. The little darling of the school had gone out of her way to speak to him of all people. When he'd held her gaze the vulnerable sheen of want he'd found glazed over her brown eyes had seized his insides with a fierce thrill like a bolt had stuck him crazy and from then on out she'd owned a monopoly on his attention. He'd looked at her, thought about her, every chance he got Saturday. She was so fucking beautiful. And in that moment, for whatever fucking crazy reason, she'd wanted him back.

It was now Monday afternoon and John Bender leaned against one of the fence-posts lining the football field, nicotine flooding his lungs like a beloved tonic as students trickled back to the main building after the pep rally; a.k.a the most pointless of pointless school spectacles.

The richie kids hadn't bothered to leave yet and lingered back from everybody else, soaking in the fumes of their own self importance as usual. The cheerleaders had finished their whoopdie-do bullshit and a few jocks hovered near them waiting for attention. Dumbasses. They could toss a football, so what? That meant the whole universe was supposed to just kiss their ass?

Claire sat perched near the top corner of the bleachers with her friends, the wind fluttering red waves around her cheekbones like the touch of piano notes in a love ballad.

 _'Love ballads.'_ He sneered at himself and dropped his gaze, taking another drag off his cigarette. See, this shit was precisely why he had to maintain his distance from her and pretend Saturday never happened. As far as he was concerned he never pushed her buttons, she never pushed back, they never made out.

Kissing her had been a swirl of horniness and amazement. She must have felt some kinda way about it too given the fact that she gave him a god knows how expensive piece of jewelry like he was somebody's dreamy eyed fiance. Ridiculous. Nothing he owned neared the value of the rock resting in his earlobe.

_'Why d'you do it Princess? Why me?'_

She was too far away to see if she still wore the diamond stud in her ear but that didn't stop his thoughts from drifting in that direction.

The prissy looking brunette next to her whispered some secret tidbit or joke into her ear and she laughed, the beauty of it brightening her entire face. The vision of her smile clenched his chest with a painful throb, something like longing, but he never longed for anything.

Truth be told if he hung out with her she wouldn't smile like that anymore. The antichrist in him had flared up when she put the lipstick between her tits and shifted her head down, posing those perfect lips wide open above her chest like she was prepared to dish out some heavenly oral. Holy shit. She was beautiful, smart, and beneath that delicate persona, not exactly pristine at all.

And then the sound of his father's voice had crawled out of his mouth and bulldozed all over her feelings. He'd been blindsided by the potency of how much he wanted her, not just to nail her but to be with her as a person and she'd caught his discomfort in the form of collateral damage. The fragile way she'd pulled back in anguish, emotions bleeding out all over the place for him, filled him with a sick sort of satisfaction and he hated it. She'd done nothing to him. _'And yet you just freaked the fuck out huh, you let some strangers and some little girl get under your skin and all you could do was bite her head off like your no good old man? Asshole. Worthless.'_

Once, years ago, something or another had pissed him off and in a fit of melodrama he'd destroyed every flower off his mother's rose bushes. He'd plucked and ripped each petal until nothing remained, stomping the pieces into the ground before he stuck his fists into the depths of the leaves and shredded his hands on the thorns. Had to have been eight or nine then. His mom had cried into the pillows on the couch for three hours but he remembered thinking hey, at least she lifted her head up to acknowledge his existence for the first time in weeks. His dad just beat his ass with the belt. Naturally. Old prick. He was a simple man with simple solutions.

He exhaled a haze of smoke.

Anger issues. Probably safe to say he was missing a few screws out of his head somewhere. That girl had caught the bad end of his explosive stupidity and yet turned around and forgave him with an alarming amount of trust despite it like the sweet, naïve person he suspected her to be beneath the surface.

He needed to keep his distance.

An ache of disappointment fought against his unease at the thought of how intimate they had gotten in such a short amount of time, the memory of her quivering inexperience and the soft pressure of her lips on his stringing him through the long moments of his predictably shitty Sunday.

He contemplated maybe getting trashed at a buddy's house later instead of pining after chicks he'd never even have when the subject of his newfound delusion swept her gaze across the field. She went too far beyond him almost but circled back in a quick double take, freezing his thoughts.

He met her eyes. Her lips parted and a deep recognition poured out of her face, an honest to God look of longing so obvious she might as well scream it out loud.

Something bubbled up inside his chest, a lightness like drifting clouds. She looked angelic in her white sweater and he wondered yet again if the red sheen of her hair was real. Probably. He'd love to go down on a natural redhead. .well, that one specifically.

He smiled and forced himself past the initial squirm of discomfort, holding her stare through the stupid cacophony of his gut emotions. She didn't appear the least bit regretful of anything, and this time her smile held a tinge of devious shyness to it so far out of the realm of platonic territory it made his head spin.

Her friend, noticing her spacey look, glanced in his direction without seeing him. He dropped his gaze, grinning around his cigarette as he took a drag. _'Obvious, Claire. You're being obvious.'_

He'd never been inclined to call chicks cute before but Claire was cute. Her poker face needed work and you could tell she wasn't a great liar.

The other girl moved on to talking because nobody would ever suspect she'd been looking at him that way, not the grungy outsider wedged miles beneath their noses. Those people only knew how to recognize themselves.

Still, Claire stole a few glances his way again as if she couldn't stop herself from doing it. _'Ditto beautiful. I can't pry my eyes off you either.'_ Their tingly, tantalizing connection was too much like a new fix.

So he had a big fat crush. So what. She'd probably still never acknowledge his existence. He'd get it under control.

He flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it underfoot, ditching the evidence before a teacher griped at him for smoking outside of the smoking area but it may have been too late. He eyed Mr. Jones's disapproving scowl as the grouchy old bastard strolled towards him with intent.

Time to skedaddle, get the hell out of here. Shoving his fists in his pockets he ignored the urge to steal another look at Claire's long legs and soak in her wistful demeanor, directed at him like a spell. She'd given him a diamond. A fucking _diamond._


	2. wonderment

"' _You ever been felt up, over the bra, under the blouse, shoes off, hoping to god your parents don't walk in?'"_

Fingers traced a gentle glide up the skin of her neck, dipping into the depths of her hair, clutching the tresses with a soft restraint as if unraveling on her too hard would cause the illusion of her presence to shatter. His tongue rolled into hers with slow, deliberate strokes, the leather of his gloves grasping low spaces on her waist beneath her shirt. Muscles within her body clenched in embarrassing spaces. They'd exchanged glares and arguments and secrets over the past several hours and they already possessed a sweltering need for forgiveness, the split tension busting their inhibitions. She felt.. wild. Every time his pulse thumped against her skin her insides filled with a shuddering want so severe she thought he'd afflicted her with a curse. Curiosity for more burned within the cadence of their kisses.

Present day, Claire reminded herself to breathe. She made her way down the empty hallway with meandering steps, a stack of graded papers nestled by her chest. Mrs. Wagner had asked her to run an errand in the middle of class, and the white cinder-block hallway stretched on into solitude. Nobody could see her blush, thank god.

The memory of her make-out session with John on Saturday had played out over and over again in her mind all of Sunday, like a song she couldn't let go of. John Bender, of all people. How had her life taken such a left turn into the bizarre?

She recalled her first impression of him after he'd already sauntered into the library like a hungover rock-star or something and stirred the pot for his own amusement. Trouble, with dark humor blacker than his shades.

Aside from his childish insults it was like.. who is this wild person? Why are you so crazy? Why are you so hot? Or maybe she had it backwards and John was the sane one who had pierced through the veil of lies peddled to them since forever; an unnerving concept. The sharp edge on his truthful observations bordered on unnerving.

The echo of her footsteps seemed loud in the hallway's quiet vacuum, the silence so unlike the usual chaos between classes. Loneliness was already threatening to smother her under the guise of normalcy. She loved her friends. She really did. But they were so cool they were almost nothing else sometimes.

John was cool but flawed but funny and hanging out with him plucked at a live wire buried unseen within herself. But he was just so... everyone would think she was sleeping with him. Certain people would love the chance to throw dirt on her reputation and nasty rumors would pour through the school grapevine for months. She could hear the taunts already. _'Ew really? Are we slumming now, Claire?'_ Or worse. _'Whore.'_

Her friends would never accept his presence around her, never, and his delinquent buddies would laugh in her face; maybe that was partly why he had flayed her feelings to ribbons about it during detention. Weirdo. But she got it. He was a deeply wounded person; she knew that, somebody intelligent, restless, and stricken with burden.

That burn scar had been horrific. It was no small wonder why John was the way he was, but at the same time he could be so. .unpleasant. Unpredictable.

Had he spoken to anyone else? She doubted it. The burnout kids stayed clumped together by themselves, wary of anyone who wasn't a metal-head or a habitual pot smoker. Didn't help that her friends always flanked her sides either.

The sight of his familiar, solitary figure lurking among the crowd of students at the football field yesterday had rushed her with a serious cocktail of emotion, affection and familiarity and a few drops of bittersweet ache, bordering on yearning. She didn't know if she'd ever yearned for anything before but.. it wasn't the sweetest feeling; it stung her, filled a vacancy in her chest with nothing but the thin comforts of worn out daydreams. She wanted to see him again.

She gathered her thoughts as she neared Mr. Burke's room by the end of the hall. She knew nothing about this class and she doubted she'd recognize a soul in the room, but she only had to hand the stack papers over and leave. Honestly, she was just happy to be free of class for the moment, she'd been partnered up with Charlene in History which altogether was a huge drag.

Twisting the doorknob, she opened the door and loud classroom chatter buzzed out into the hallway.

Mr. Burke was busy scribbling away at the front of the chalkboard, listing data from a graph while the rest of the class yelled and laughed among themselves, not paying him the slightest bit of attention.

Claire dodged a paper airplane by the door as she crossed the room with mild, unbothered haste. Thankfully she didn't have to share classes with any of these wild animals.

She cleared her throat above the noise. Glasses tilted on the bridge of his nose as the teacher paused his fruitless lesson and peered down at her with expectancy.

"Mrs. Wagner sent me to give you these," she stated.

He blinked. "Ah. My essays. Great. Set them on the desk if you would please, young lady."

She walked a few paces over to the desk and laid the papers down on the only clean spot on the surface, avoiding spitballs and piles of crumpled paper, wondering how long she could stretch out her return trip to class.

Something pricked the hairs on the back of her neck and she turned to her right. John peered back at her from the back corner of the classroom, one leg kicked up on the desk, his face mirroring her own surprise.

Of course. _Of course_ he was in here. This was a bad kid class. A burst of excitement fluttered in her stomach and she smiled at him, sweeping a hand through her hair. _'Hey, you.'_

The people around him were either asleep on their desks or slumped together over a suspicious-looking magazine. Nobody noticed her presence and she doubted they would recognize her even if they bothered to glance her way.

Oh but John knew, though. He had yet to budge or wave or anything and he just looked at her with a quiet sort of intensity. She wondered if her face liked to drift through his mind with alarming frequency too since Saturday, altered by the glimpses of a foreign life he couldn't forget about. Cause that was how she felt. His influence had shaken the foundations of her perception and if she enthralled him on some level well, she couldn't say she was sorry.

Biting her lower lip, butterflies swirled in her belly as she gave him a nod towards the door with the slightest tilt of her head. _'C'mon.'_

He blinked as if interrupted from a trance and she watched warmth spread into his startled expression, his smile turning devious and darkening her fluttery feelings into a swarm. She tried her best to hide her smile, peeling her eyes off him and making her way back towards the hall, slowing her movements into a careless saunter before she even realized she was doing it.

_'Have I lost my mind? I can't start messing with him, seeking him out like this. I can't. But...'_

Once outside, the bland labyrinth of hallways drenched her in a haze so quiet it seemed disconnected from the rest of the world, the endless white brick barren of decoration save for a few posters dusted over with pale, anemic pinks.

Crossing her arms, she leaned back against the wall, holding the thin laminated hall-pass between her fingertips. She never acted like this with guys, sure she flirted with them in passing, duh, of course, but the intent behind her and John's exchanges held a guilty sort of thrill like she was stealing or something.

Hopefully her crush wasn't one-sided, why would it be? But he had other girlfriends.. supposedly.. and maybe he hit on her but still hated her spoiled guts. Maybe he'd changed his mind. With a guy like that, who knew? He probably flirted with anything in a skirt. 

But surely he wouldn't leave her out here alone like a loser. Maybe she was trying too hard, and he wasn't really into her like that.. She just thought he could slip out of class for a sec so they could.. what? Talk? Yeah, she wanted to talk to him without the nosy stares of strangers. That's all. It wasn't illegal.

She rested her head against the brick and stared up at the faded ceiling tiles, jumping slightly when she the heard the door creak open and shut.

John hovered in front of the threshold of the hallway, looking somewhat cautious of her despite his laughing gaze, hands shoved deep in his dark coat pockets. The bandanna tied around one boot glared shockingly red against the colorless floor.

Excitement pressed in on her chest, both a tingling rush and an anxiousness intermingling together into a heady mix. Just like Saturday.

She smiled, breathless. "Hey."

He gave her a slight nod, a smirk creeping across his lips. "Hey."

He tossed some hair back from his forehead and the diamond sat in his ear, a speck of glimmer sparkling above the grungy black of his jacket collar.

_'He kept it. He's wearing it.'_

A great burst of 'yes!' danced in her chest and she rolled her bottom lip beneath her teeth, smiling. She wouldn't let herself visibly gush too much not, but... he had his diamond, she had hers, a pair.

This time his countenance was casually bright and slightly self conscious as he averted his gaze down to his boots, the vision of his smile swooping down on her heart with a huge gust of affection. He was.. blindingly handsome. Damn it.

A tremor simmered deep in her body and she pressed fingertips to the delicate space beneath her collarbone. She'd really made out with him last Saturday, let him touch her in ways she'd never cared about before, boundary pushing, satisfying movements and now he reeked of sex appeal. John Bender. _'Oh boy.. What am I getting myself into?'_


	3. gravitation

“You rang?”

His smirk hung lopsided across his face as he slouched sideways against the wall. “So, wandering the halls are we? What, didn’t learn your lesson last time?”

She laughed softly and mirrored his position, leaning against the brick to face him. He barely had to speak a word and she’d still crumble into an inner giggliness she thought had faded out of her after her junior high years. But she liked it; it gave her an airy rush.

“Sorry to disappoint but um, I doubt I’m actually breaking any rules.” She flashed the hall pass between her fingers.

He gave a single nod and inched closer, regarding her sideways with a tilt of his head. “Well.. maybe we can bend those rules, huh?”

His close proximity bombed her with a rush of tingling butterflies and she took a sliding step towards him. “Maybe.”

“You wanna talk?”

“.. Guilty.”

A shadow of mischief passed over his expression, his arm resting against the wall above her head. “I like how that sounds.” He leaned further into her space. “Let's go somewhere quiet for a minute or two. I know you don’t wanna be spotted out here with the school menace.”

“You are a menace,” she teased. “I’m not gonna deny it.”

His smile darkened into a sneer like he was proud of himself, the slick arrogance of his expression kindling the first flickers of pleasurable trepidation in her belly. “Funny,” he murmured. “That sorta implies someone likes to tango with bad behavior doesn’t it?”

She shrugged, heart fluttering at his suggestive tone. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like you.”

His gaze turned heavy. Blatant adult levels of desire wasn’t an emotion she witnessed often but John was shameless, and he hurled it at her like a curve-ball. His eyes were brown and vastly dark, like colored glass stretched over the depths of a murky evening.

She let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “I um.. I don’t know how to tango though.”

 _‘Crap, that sounds stupid.’_ Uncertainty shifted through her but his resultant smile was genuine, thank god.

“Don’t sweat it,” he shrugged. “We can always just shag.”

Her own shaky laugh surprised her, and she stopped herself from wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt. “It kills you not to be a pervert doesn’t it?”

“I’m kidding. I meant the dance. So look who’s talking.”

She smiled, glancing down at her boots. It was like he disrupted her social skills and gave her a bad case of the brain fuzz or something. “Whatever. I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t, I wasn’t arguing. But seriously, we’ve got about ten minutes to get somewhere before the bell rings...”

She felt a mild zap of indecision. “What about your books and stuff?”

“What about it? That crap’s in my locker. I sleep this period usually, cause I ditched too much last year, so they stuck me in this brain-dead math class.”

She smiled up at him. “So you skip a lot? Have you ever considered trying to be.. y’know, not so reckless?”

He smirked. “Have you ever considered trying to be not so pristine? But we’ve covered this already, huh?”

Heat flushed up into her cheeks. She watched him slide his weight off the wall and take several slow steps backwards towards the hallway, his eyes heavy on hers with cool interest.

His beckoning tugged at the invisible thread between them and she felt the increasingly familiar bucking urge to follow. A rising part of her wanted to say screw the rules. John stood at the edge of freedom and he treaded beyond the safety of adult lies.

He paused, facing her with calculated patience. Clothes dark, his form blocked out the endless chain of lockers, red letters screaming VAN HALEN across his t-shirt. “Your choice.”

With that he turned and walked off, seemingly convinced she’d follow behind him. Jerk. She couldn’t say she possessed even a drop of his overconfidence right now, not while wading into pools of unfamiliar waters like this.

 _‘But god’_.. she let the flow of curiosity rush over her embarrassment. This would be more than talking; this would be skipping class. Again. But a full hour of stale conversation with Angela next period in social studies? Not appealing in the least. Everything paled compared to the shades of blunt emotion thrown up all over the place between her and John on Saturday. She felt like she.. she felt like she really knew him, somehow. She’d never laughed and bawled her eyes out and kissed someone all in one day before.

If skipping class was part of his common routine, then maybe she was in safe hands, right? There was nobody to deter them, just her and John free roaming and alone. After two days of daydreaming about him, searching for his chestnut hair and flannel among the sea of strangers, wasn’t that what she’d wanted?

~

* * *

~

This girl didn’t unsettle him or anything. 

Her dewy looks of curiosity did funny shit to his insides, as if he’d banged his head, got amnesia, and suddenly gave a rat’s ass about what chicks thought about him. Under typical circumstances he didn’t care. Screw me, or don’t. Whatever.

However, a certain level of pressure followed Claire’s graceful advances. It was more excitement than nerves but hardly anything got his heart pounding in his chest like this anymore. If they were starting in on this.. mutually beneficial situation, he had to play his cards right. He suspected she required nuance and he had to get it right.

The click of her low heels echoed in the hall beside him, reminding him of models and ice sculptures and fashion or whatever the hell else she was into. Blondie and Duran Duran maybe. She’d mentioned something about French movies and France. The hell did he know about French people? They liked to do it nasty and eat cheese?

He avoided the language arts wing since any random smuck could just spill out into the hall and rat them out. If any of his friends spotted him wandering the grounds with little miss socialite here, he’d never hear the fuckin end of it.

_“You’re telling me you’re nailing that girl? **Her**? I didn’t think those chicks put out unless you drove a BMW.”_

_“What’s your secret man? What’s the deal?”_

And the thing was, he didn’t know. He’d never tested the theory that trouble enticed the trust-fund babes with daddy issues. Usually those types only sent him ice, and Claire had played that angle too but she gave herself away with her long stares, whether she realized it or not. Too naïve, too transparent.. and he weaseled his way in. Surprise. Like he’d ever pass up an opportunity to snatch benefits from her moment of weakness. Who was he to deny her what she wanted, anyway? Chivalry never did him any favors.

She lingered a step behind him, near his elbow, the hints of her perfume drifting up into his senses like lush floral echoes of something expensive.

“You really don’t.. mind if I hang out with you, right?”

He smiled, stifling a half-hearted scoff. There was definitely gonna be some communication barriers between him and this girl, because what in the hell about this scenario said ‘I’m not into you?’

He stopped at the top edge of the staircase and peered back at her, emboldened by the way her breath quietly hitched under his gaze.

“Yea, I mind,” he stated, voice low. “I definitely mind. I must go outta my way to talk to you for nothing. Whaddya think, Princess?”

Her expression fanned between confusion and relief, lips tilting into a half-smile. She was looking at him like he was sorta crazy, and he couldn’t blame her, he hadn’t exactly meant for his words to come out backwards but.. reassurances.. yeah. No.

He took a single step down the staircase and leaned against the railing, another wave of thinly veiled honesty filling the quiet of the hallway. The quiet pauses between their words riddled him with an oddly restless feeling, like he'd do anything to hold her interest. “It’s not like Saturday got me thinking about you or anything," he murmured, "your secrets.. what all kinds of not so innocent urges you keep hoarded to yourself late at night. That sleazy lipstick trick almost did me in.”

She hovered a ways back from the top step and he was reminded once again of how much he loved to watch her unwind into the reality of what it felt like to suffer under the desire for somebody; especially if that somebody was him. It was a sexy expression, and he thought he might stop breathing when she rolled her bottom lip under her perfectly straight teeth like that.. but dammit they couldn’t stand here gawking at each other like awkward virgins forever.

She had yet to say anything, and he raised a brow at her, a floating warmth manifesting in his stomach with frightening ease. “Claire..” he chuckled. “I’m messing with you.”

A hint of a smile quirked across her lips, arms crossed in front of her chest. “I know, it’s your favorite thing to do isn’t it? And watch who you’re calling sleazy too please. If you think I’m sleazy, you need a mirror.”

_‘This girl..’_

Scoping her out with amusement, he stood up straight and offered her his elbow, fists resting within the front pockets of his jean jacket. “Hey, I’m no angel. I don’t care. But for the record I said the lipstick trick was sleazy, not you. You’re just a tease.”

She rolled her eyes and sauntered up beside him, fingers sliding around the crook of his arm with soft certainty. “You’re the tease,” she stated. “You tease me about everything and it makes me feel crazy.”

They descended the stairwell together with his laugh echoing in the hall. “Whoa, I must’ve given you the wrong impression about me because first of all I, am the furthest thing from a tease. If you want it, you can fuckin get it sweets, anytime, anywhere. And I think we can get you way more than a crazy feeling, know what I mean?”

She rewarded the risk of his words by brandishing a pleasant, self-conscious laugh, the type that floated forth from chicks whenever they interacted with their crushes. “Thanks.. I’ll um.. I’ll keep that in mind, I guess.”

Bingo. He almost felt high suddenly, a body high, as if he’d hit a joint in the middle of the afternoon sunlight. “Yeah. You do that.”

A rosy pink color spread across her cheeks in a pretty flush and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

He never walked with someone like this, couldn’t say where the urge had even come from, yet here he was with her manicured fingertips wrapped around his arm like it was an average fuckin day in the neighborhood. Her perfume carried remnants of white flowers and a promise to cling to his clothes long after her absence. He dragged his eyes away from her before he pushed it too much, taking a moment to make sure he avoided the trash and random coke cans strewn along the steps. If he fell on his ass like a clown, that’d be the end of his fun. 

“I’m sorry if I may come off quiet.. or bitchy or something,” she whispered. “I don’t always know what to say to you.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual then,” he muttered. He wasn’t lying. A thin layer of discomfort was fizzing in his gut, under his skin, already. She was too damn close. “Say whatever Claire,” he added. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Really? Cause you’re kind of intimidating sometimes.”

“I’m not exactly an enigma, sweets.” Stupidly insecure words jumbled from his mouth before he could stop himself. “I’m an asshole and a nobody. So it doesn’t matter and neither do I. So don’t worry about it.”

“It um, it kinda hurts me that you feel the need to talk like that about yourself. I think you matter. And I like you.”

“Great,” he shrugged, tone flat. “Thanks. I’m just moving on up in the world I guess.”

Goddamn it. Watch out everybody, we’ve got a real casanova over here. But he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had poured sincerity like grains of sugar all over his bitter perception like this. Girls tried to swindle favors from him sure, but Claire dropped affectionate statements on him like they were facts. It threw him the fuck off.

She’d grown quiet, and he realized he hadn’t given her a single scrap of reciprocity with his tense reply this time.

_‘Damnit play nice. Just say it. ‘I like you too. Fuck yea I do, why not? You know how to kiss and how to throw shit back at me and you’re so beautiful it’s stupid. I’ve probably thought about you a thousand times since Saturday. Sad, right?’_

They neared the outdated portion of the athletics department, parting to slip through the threshold of the door. Claire fell into step behind him with pure trust. She trusted him to lead her wherever despite how they barely knew each other still and yet he couldn’t even talk to her because he was a spineless dickweed. Not that there was any way her sudden favor of him indicated anything substantial anyway. They existed on different wavelengths and he had an inkling it forebode problems.

The back hall behind the gymnasium always carried a dusty smell and it hit his senses as soon as he turned the corner, a few fluorescent light-bulbs flickering overhead in the dingy ceiling. He smoked joints in the bathroom near the equipment storage sometimes when he wanted to hide out from the bullshit and listen to music.

Her heels clicked across the floor right by his side as they started to pass the first row of old lockers, the lights blinking in dim shades. Nobody lurked around to give them problems, no teachers, no pests.

He was alone back here with her. A distant unease tried to riot along with the anticipation in his stomach but he discarded it, reminding himself how it didn’t matter, these circumstances meant nothing just as much as everything else in life meant nothing, who cares? But she’d given him a diamond and an uncomfortable sense of guilt was steadily gnawing at him like a tumor over it.

He reached over and grasped her hand, lacing their fingertips together.

He realized again how dazzling she was when her expression brightened into happiness; her smile dowsing him with internal, subtle flares of affection. _Claire Standish._ Of course she was impressed by this simple mushy bullshit. She was a virgin, a clean slate who didn’t know any better.

He tightened his grip slightly, and she grasped his hand back with equal pressure, her fingers slim, creamy smooth and soft against his knuckles. It felt good and zapped him with more buzzing pleasure.

He probably should make an attempt not to bulldoze all over her on accident and yea, maybe she was a spoiled bitch who’d drop him in a week but he refused to decimate her little vanilla wonderland. This girl had chosen him, sought him out again on her own even though money oozed from her very mannerisms, and he felt like he’d stepped into a glitzy world full of diamonds. A place where no soul would ever tell him ‘you can’t, it’s too expensive’ or ‘you can’t, you’re not good enough’ ever again.

It was sort of funny, in hindsight.. maybe pulling the fire alarm had been the best decision he’d made in months, maybe in years and he couldn’t decipher if that was a freeing concept, or just another pathetic blip on the horizon of his life. Who cares.

He stole a glance at her out of his peripherals and she had yet to stop smiling, like she was so overjoyed to be holding his hand. She was so fucking cute and apparently, also delusional. It was like she missed the memo; nobody was ever happy to see him.

“Honestly, I’ve never seen anybody so thrilled over the smell of gym-socks, Claire.”

She laughed. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this sucks or is super rough I'm sry if I wait on perfection I will literally never update. D: I have to just go back and periodically edit. Thanks for reading!


	4. dancing on glass

The lock on the door clicked shut with a quiet snap. 

She caught herself admiring the back of John’s shoulders before he turned around, peering at her with a gathered neutrality she suspected was a mask. He looked like he belonged on a heavy metal music video, the kind she saw before changing the channel, with his long layered hair and bad attitude. 

They had slipped into the one stall bathroom, Claire first, John holding the door open for her while he scanned the hallway one last time, as if by reflex. She’d never ventured this far back behind the gymnasium before but there was nobody around to see them, the narrow hallway hoarding a smell like old forgotten shoes and dust. 

John’s moodiness could be nerve-wracking but the moment his fingers threaded through hers.. it was like he’d yanked her mood upwards into cloud nine. It was the most weirdly natural gesture in the world and she almost wished she’d walked up to him months ago and grasped his hand instead of ignoring his very existence, back when his presence blended together with the other burnouts. They could’ve gained a head start on time spent together like this. 

She’d never used this bathroom, never even seen it and no graffiti marred the walls, a more unused faculty bathroom than anything and only a mirror to the right reflected the reality of their secrets. 

She somewhat expected him to raid her space, but he slouched sideways against the wall across from her, and she found herself once again gazing up into his face at a neutral distance. He had pretty eyes, nice eyebrows; a little bushy on the sides but her chance of him allowing the pinch of her tweezers probably was a slim one. 

“If you start feeling antsy let me know. But somehow I doubt that’s going to happen.”

She smiled. “Thanks, but you’re right. It’s not.”

Stepping closer, she rested a hand on the edge of his jacket lapel, the jean material scratchy and frayed in places. She’d be lying if she said a part of her hadn’t worried about him over the past few days. How could she not? Life forced him to walk home to an abusive father every night. 

She absentmindedly fingered a piece of rogue thread on his clothing. “So.. how are you? I mean, how’ve you been doing?”

A wrinkle of tension manifested between his brows, as if she confused him with her question. 

“Same as always,” he shrugged. Just living the dream. I’m fine.”

His reply sounded a bit too automatic. He hadn’t even attempted to crack a joke. “I know it’s not my business or anything but.. I hope you’re okay now.”

He smirked. “Well, at this moment I am fan-fucking-tastic, Cherry.” 

She flashed a soft smile. “Good, me too.”

They maintained a long pause of eye contact. The ancient air conditioner whirred on in the background, competing with the volume of her thumping heart. 

“Why do you call me that anyway? Cause I’m a virgin or something?”

She hadn’t meant to say that. His look turned wolfish and heat blossomed in her face. 

“Well I meant because you’re a redhead but sure, we’ll go with that too. Thanks for the reminder.”

A subdued chuckle escaped her and she rolled her eyes. “You’re so weird. What difference does it make if I’m a virgin or not really?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t. The innocence is just sexy and so are you.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, running a hand up the side of her neck. “You say that, but I can’t even talk about being a virgin or everyone will make fun of me. They think I’m dumb for waiting this long.”

“Who?”

“My friends.”

“Ah. Well there’s your problem. Your shallow bitch friends.” He peered down his nose at her, face noncommittal. “Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

Yeah, as if. She fought down a grin at the thought of frazzling Jenny and Anne Marie and everyone else with a short ‘hey, fuck off.’ They’d probably think she’d lost her mind. 

She didn’t know how to mimic John’s attitude. She’d never met anybody who just did whatever the hell they wanted to before; at first it’d been off-putting, but she’d had time since Saturday to process why she liked him, why other girls liked him. 

She dropped her hand from his jacket. She tried to ignore it but that thought mellowed some of her good feelings. “I guess it’s safe to say you’re not one.”

“What, a virgin?” He smirked, tongue rolling across his teeth behind his lips. “You know good damn well I’m not.”

“So.. you know how to do everything?”

“Why? You wanna do it right now?”

Breaking their gaze for a moment, she thought the bathroom had gotten stiflingly warm all of a sudden. Maybe she shouldn't have said that. 

He got closer into her face and a dark want curled over her entire perception, something alluring and shameful unfurling in low places. “I know you don’t want to,” he whispered. “But see what I mean? Somebody’s a tease.”

She was grateful when he leaned back so she could breathe, his movement carrying a faint scent like pine and amber. Last time she’d been this close to him nothing but cigarette smoke lingered on his clothes. 

“It’s ok, I dig it,” he clarified, maybe mistaking her silence for discomfort. “I told you, say whatever you want, and we can do or not do, anything.” 

She couldn’t help herself. “What about your wallet girls?”

“What about them?”

She almost leaned against the wall but stopped herself, crossing her arms. “Well I hope I’m not alone in a bathroom talking about sex with someone else’s boyfriend for starters. And I’ve kissed you twice.”

He exhaled a subtle scoff. “I’m nobody’s boyfriend. So your conscious is clear.”

“But they’re your girlfriends?”

He rolled his head to one side and back again and she already could tell he’d get irritated if she pushed the issue. “Not really. I might’ve exaggerated. Chicks give me their pictures alright whatever I didn’t ask for them, but I don’t date and that’s the way it goes.” 

“So you sleaze around, is that what you’re saying?”

He smiled, but the look was deeply sardonic. Purple rings hung beneath his eyes. “Yeah Claire, I sleaze around.” 

She frowned, unsettled by her queasy surge of jealousy. “You know that I’m not like that,” she mused, shifting her head up and away from him. “I believe in love and I don't even know you.”

“And yet, here you are.” 

He had a point. Of course he did, the big mouth, but it worked both ways. “So.. now what?”

“Don’t know. But I’m not dating you.”

Ouch. Well.. what did she expect? Still his blunt words crashed the fun of her flirty drifting and she couldn’t say the impact was painless. 

Rejected, she turned and faced the mirror under the casual guise of checking her makeup, wiping a stray speck of mascara from her lower lash line. The first sting of tears threatened a muddy disaster; she couldn’t recall if she’d used waterproof or not. Most guys at the school would drop everything for her number.. Anthony Sanders promised to take her out sometime, and the other week Robert Smith had slipped a note in her locker before lunch. Dating had always been an easy process, as fun and meaningless as a spin on a merry-go-round and she thought maybe she could reel in John if she.. what, pouted hard enough? 

He caught and held her gaze through the glass surface and she watched his reflection slide closer, the denim of his jacket scraping the wall. “Don’t be like that sweets,” he cajoled. “I get that you’re a spoiled darling who’s never been told no in your life but we’ve been over this. As if you’d ever claim me anyways, I don’t know why you waste time fishing for answers you don’t even fuckin want.”

She crossed her arms and stared down at the floor, her skin jumping at the intensity of his sudden closeness. “You don’t have to give me an attitude about it,” she muttered. “I never said I wanted to date you John, but I’m not kissing you while you entertain other people too ok, it’s nauseating.”

His heavy blink was borderline sarcastic, a smirk hanging from one side of his lips. She couldn’t decipher her anticipatory thrill from her sense of dread anymore, her feelings hopelessly spinning together in a blur. 

“That’s your own outlook, and not my problem.”

She turned and met his eyes, letting her words fall on him with blunt honesty. “So if I sleep with you today and then go screw someone else tomorrow you don’t care?” 

All pretense of humor dropped from his face. 

“See?” she murmured, consoled by the flinch in his expression. He wanted her, at least on some level. “It hurts.”

He took a step back from her with the retreating malice of a kicked dog. “Listen, you’re the only one on my radar all right? Like I can even conceive to think about anybody else after touching you, I’ve never wanted anyone or anything this mother-fucking bad and I hate it, it’s your fault and there’s nothing I can do about it. Happy? It’s like life is playing some sick fucking joke on me and you are too probably, bitch.”

She recoiled back in surprise, hurt cutting her as sharply as if he’d dosed her in ice water. “Me? Playing a _joke_ on you, are you serious? How do I know you’re not just tailing me so you can brag to all your stupid friends about how you took my virginity? Tell everybody what I look like naked? It’d ruin everything for me. I’d probably have to act like Brian and shoot myself.”

The muscles in his jaw clenched but he said nothing, giving her nothing. 

The first trickle of moisture rolled down her cheeks. “I can’t help it I’m into you, excuse me for caring I guess. And thanks for calling me a bitch too, you asshole. You make it so hard for anyone to be nice to you.”

He avoided her gaze, his tongue flashing along the sides of his teeth. “Okay, we’re not in detention anymore, sweetheart, I’ve got other shit to do. I know you think the world revolves around you but newsflash, it doesn’t. I’m not gonna waste my time bothering some priss just to get my kicks. I may be worthless but I’m not that pathetic.”

She sniffled. “You’re not worthless.”

Her words reeled in his gaze, disbelief beginning to crack through his scowl. “Yeah right. You need your head checked. You don’t know shit about me.”

“You’re not worthless, but I see why you don’t have relationships. You’re so fucking mean sometimes and people still give you their pictures? Are you just that good of a.. of a lay or something?”

He froze, staring at her with thinly concealed wariness, as if she’d caught a sudden case of delusion, but at least he finally shut up. 

“I’d bet money that you are,” she muttered, clearing the tears from her cheek with a pass of her wrist. "How else could anyone put up with your crap?"

“You wanna find out?”

His stare carried a feral interest, both hard and beckoning, and it quickly tossed her between ‘yes I do,’ and ‘no I don’t,’ so she ignored it. “How is it my fault you like me, by the way?” she snapped, hating the vulnerability in her voice. “You came after me. You got in my face in front of everybody and I didn’t even understand what was happening. I was so embarrassed.. all I wanted to know was your name, but I ended up wet and humiliated in a room full of people. That was your fault. So screw you.”

His expression reeked of surprise. “I was just messing with you. I didn’t know you’d be goddamn into it!”

The weight of his glower pressed down on her feelings but she glared back at him. “How is that my problem?! You caused all this! You can’t give me shit for wanting you now, and I do. It’s horrible. I wasn’t somebody that ever thought about doing guys in some dirty backseat but thanks to you that’s how I spent my Sunday.” 

His laugh was harsh and without humor. “Doing guys?”

“No! N-no, thinking about doing it with you, idiot! Why I don’t know, I guess God hates me or I’m being punished or something.”

Tension locked his broad shoulders. “I already said I’d fuck you. What the hell else do you want from me?”

“I want you to like me! I have the biggest crush on you and it feels like it’s lasting forever. But you act like you hate me and it sucks.”

“The words ‘I hate you’ came outta your mouth, sweets.”

“Maybe because you were being awful, so excuse me. I don’t even remember saying that to you.”

“And once again you’re here arguing with me. Not the greatest omen for our relationship is it?”

He turned and slammed one fist sideways into the wall, and she jumped.

She toyed with the necklace at her throat, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t care. I want you. I guess you should have thought twice before you started fucking with me Saturday. You can’t just step on my feelings whenever, I can’t take it ok, I can’t, it hurts too much, but I want you. Please John. You mean the world to me now. Please.”

She searched his features for any omens of reaction, heart thumping louder than her breath in the cramped space. 

He shook his head, a few hollow chuckles escaping him, hand sliding down the brick. “You don't even know me. See, why do you feel the need to say this sappy, emotional bullshit? I’m so fucked now. No really, I’m fucked. I thought I was dreaming when you kissed me and I still can’t shake the delusional feeling that I’ve woken up in some kinda fake, parallel universe with you.” 

Her shoulders dropped, and she exhaled the hoarded, anxious breath from her lungs. “A good universe, or a bad one?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, face blank. “But I’d rather be in it with you than step foot in reality again. In fact, I don’t even care if I died to get here. That mean I like you?"

Her heart melted into a pool of soft feelings. “.. I don’t know. I’ve never been like this with anybody. I’m the virgin, remember?” She chuckled, half-hearted. “But I think it.. it definitely means something.”

He rolled sideways away from her, peering at nothing, his shoulders slouched against the brick. She failed to understand how a single person could battle confusion with such bitter indifference, as if pain had become as meaningless as some boring, extracurricular activity. _‘The pain club Claire, duh! Don’t you know? Everyone’s a member and it lasts forever!’_

Biting the skin from her lips, she glanced down at the floor and straightened the bottom hemline of skirt. She had no idea how to respond to him sometimes. Boys confessed their feelings for her with words like ‘I think we’d be good together Claire,’ or ‘I like you’ not... this. She studied the side of his face through her build up of glistening tears. She wasn’t sad, so much as.. split open. A bundle of plucked nerves feeling multiple emotions at once. 

His eyebrows arched high and he seemed to ignore her demeanor in favor of some internal struggle. For a moment his countenance stewed in quiet sadness, a listless melancholy mostly carried by adults; at least as far as she’d ever seen, but apparently she existed within her own limited bubble. 

He scraped a gloved hand through his hair. “Want me to go? In fact, if you‘d like me to never speak to you again, we can pretend none of this ever happened. Not a big deal.”

She frowned. “No.. I’d say that’s like the opposite of what I want. Where do thoughts like that even come from with you?”

She briefly wondered if this was what embarrassment looked like on John Bender. Just another thin emotion veiled under annoyance, and his sudden increase of fidgeting was making her restless. 

He stopped and avoided her gaze like she wasn’t there and nothing mattered. “Contrary to popular belief I’m not actually trying to royally screw you over.. and for the record you’re so naïve it’s frightening. Somebody should’ve told you that by now. Damn, your folks really didn’t bother to raise you at all did they, they gave you heaps of cash but nothing else huh?”

“Can’t I make my own decisions? I thought you’d be the last person to coddle me about anything.”

He laid his head back against the wall and glowered at the ceiling. “It’s not coddling. I’m just telling you you don’t know what you’re getting into and neither do I.”

She couldn’t say she liked to hear him blurt her own previous thoughts back like that. She sighed, running trembling fingers through the side of her hair. “Just don’t do things with other people.. and don’t push me away. You think that’s something you could do?”

His smile was wry as he looked down at his knuckles, picking at an old scab. “You’re never gonna leave me alone about it, are you?”

“Look who’s talking.” 

He stopped and stared at her, amused, a tiny pinprick of blood swelling on the surface of his fingers. “Fine, but I’m still not your boyfriend, baby.”

His look could turn sweltering so fast and it plucked at her tightened nerves. Want ached in her body and she shifted her weight. “Duh, of course not.”

Her statement sat like a familiar thorn wedged in her chest, an ugliness that bled her feelings into nowhere. Her friends would practically retch with disgust if she united ‘boyfriend’ and ‘John Bender’ into the same sentence. “But you promise?”

“Promise what?”

God he was an asshole. She never pleaded with anyone like this. “That you’re not lying, you’ll keep this between us. What we do, our secrets, everything. And no outsiders. Do it for me please? _Baby?"_

He licked his lips and studied her for a long moment, regarding her with impartial silence, and she practically watched the mechanical fight for balance weigh between his thoughts. His hesitation was nothing more than a paper thin wall, coated in pride. He wanted her, definitely. 

His shoulders sagged and he dropped his hands, resting them in his jean pockets. “Sure Claire,” he sighed. “Yeah. Want me to pinky swear?” 

She let out a soft chuckle. She couldn’t help it. With the filth that came out of his mouth, she’d never guess he’d remember the childhood sacrament of pinky swears. “Thanks but no thanks. And I promise I won’t be a hypocrite or anything.”

“Thanks, but save it, I don’t need promises. I’d take your scraps.”

“John that’s nasty.”

“Am I known for wholesome, family friendly content?”

She rolled her eyes and leaned her back against the wall. Somehow she doubted he’d react to her open romantic whims with anything other than an explosion, but whatever, she’d let it go for now. “I wouldn’t do that to you anyway,” she said. “I know some people think I’m a queen bitch and everything but honestly I never set out to hurt anybody’s feelings. I’m just not perfect. I’m not even sure if I’m that pretty.”

He let out a quiet, scornful laugh and shook his head again. No further comment apparently.

“What?”

“That last part. You don’t think you’re that pretty.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He tossed long pieces of hair back from his face and studied her with a noncommittal expression. “An understatement. And it’s not something I just think either, like an opinion, it’s a fact. You’re fucking gorgeous. Just so you know.”

A flush spread up her neck and she smiled through the new wave of shyness. “Thanks. I thought you thought I was fat.”

“Not true, I said you’re not presently fat. You’ve got to graduate, get married, and give it about ten years.”

She gave his arm a light shove, forcing him to take a step backwards. “Don’t kid yourself,” she teased, “if I called you up ten years from now you’d totally pick up the phone.”

He dove back into her personal space, pushing himself closer this time. “You’re right, I would. Fat or not. Married or not.”

Embarrassment intertwined with a quick zap of thrill in her stomach and made it impossible to lift her head up to look at him. _‘Why does his bad shit turn me on so much? Am I crazy?’_

“.. You’re such a weirdo,” she mumbled, laying one hand on his chest, the worn graphic on his shirt scraping her palm. “But you’re also hot and it’s the most bizarre thing ever.”

His laugh had regained its typical ambivalence, both amused and caustic. “You know the way you keep talking... is making me suspect you might wanna do something. Are you really a virgin?”

She smirked. “If you ask me that question one more time I think I might pull my hair out.”

His grin turned mischievous. “I have a condom.”

“Where?”

“In my wallet.”

“Oh.”

He studied her face for her reaction. She broke the gaze and dropped her hand from his shirt, rebelling against the urge to giggle. Her self control unraveled with each second spent under his burning attention, the concept of unbuttoning his pants and letting herself crash into him rippling through her mind, even beneath the glare of this harsh, artificial light, surrounded by walls. People hooked up between classes sometimes but sex? Get real, she couldn’t actually- 

“I figured the most we’d do was make-out, if I was lucky.” He chuckled, soft this time, like a whispered secret. “All right?”

One day she’d pay him back for all this torture. She smiled, allowing her arms to drift upwards to rest on his shoulders, taking in the sight of his fading humor. The pulse at his neck thumped against her arm as he held a smothered expression of hopeful realization, contained and swirling within his brown eyes. He’d been blessed with a bold, flawless face, the lighter emotion hinting at brighter days. All she could think was.. ‘ _wow_.’

“I’ve been picturing this in my mind all weekend,” she blurted. 

“Yeah? Not more than me.”

“It’s weird, I’m popular but, it’s like you’re the first person in a long time to notice me.” She shifted her gaze towards an old mark near his chin, the nick a scar visible only at this intimate distance. “I mean sure of course everyone else notices me, but they don’t _see_ me. Does that make sense? And the worst part is I don’t even know who the real me even is sometimes. Not really.”

He blinked slowly as if her words beckoned him back into the present. “Nobody does sweets, who cares. Be whoever Claire. What’re you gonna do, bore me? Scare me off? Neither’s happening. Scout's honor.” 

Her sinuses stung the center of her face and she tightened her grip around his neck, falling forward against him. “Somehow you don’t strike me as a Boy Scout,” she teased, hoping he disregarded the emotional waver in her voice. She hated when she whined. She sounded entirely too much like her mother. 

He took her hug with rigid surprise, holding the small of her back. “... Ya caught me, I’m not,” he chuckled, the pattern of his breathing pressing into her chest, voice vibrating against her collarbone. “But you get the point right?”

He held her like she was made of glass, his grip on her waist stilted and she wondered when was the last time anyone had ever hugged him, the words ‘never’, and ‘neglect’ flashing through her mind. But he’d been hugged before, right? She leaned her head into the crook of his shoulder, her feelings dripping towards blue tones. “Yeah, I do,” she whispered. “And I don’t care what anyone says about you. You’re more than bad news John. I really believe that.”

He heaved a sigh; invisible weight seeping from his body in slow deflation. He leaned his head into hers, hugging her back with a resigned, slightly awkward stiffness, the heat of his arms tightening around her middle. “If you say so, Cherry.”

A fuzzy sense of warmth trembled through her perception and she closed her eyes. His hair held a lingering scent of woodsy cologne, the piece-y layers tickling her cheeks. Who did he bother to wear cologne for this week? Why’d he call her pet names if she’d never be his girlfriend? 

He let both hands wrap around her waist this time, nudging her closer, the contact sparking tingles in the skin of her lower back. Quiet settled between them and she slipped into the lull of their breathes, thinking of nothing but this moment, his face pressed against the side of her own, his nose buried in her hair. She imagined his eyes were closed though she couldn’t say why. It was a Tuesday afternoon in 1984 and here she was, tangled in an embrace with John Bender, her feelings oozing raw, lovesick confusion; a bittersweet sort of pain that irritated crumbling facades and cleansed wounds she had long forgotten about, somehow. Tears trickled down her cheeks and dampened his hair. She might give anything to stay like this forever and have time slow to a stop in this dingy bathroom; no more college entrance anxiety, no more judgmental remarks from her peers, finally she’d found a path beyond the reach of her parent’s shitfaced arguments. And John could stay in her arms and never suffer the hurt of his father’s abuse ever again. Was that too much to ask for? 

“Why’re you crying?”

She’d never heard his voice have such a small quality before.. “I don’t know, it’s not you. I’m not sad.”

He nodded once, either relating to her statement or pretending to. “Hey,” he whispered, voice low. “Thanks for the earring.”

She pulled back far enough to peer into his face, wiping her eyes with her fingertips. “Oh. You’re welcome I um, I wanted you to have it.”

His hold on her waist resembled something genuine. “I don’t want to make you cry all the time.”

“You won’t. We can be whoever we want, remember?”

Lashes laid on his cheeks as he looked down, eyebrows curved high as if he were ashamed. For a moment she expected to see the shine of moisture in his eyes but his gaze returned to hers with nothing but resignation lingering within the depths. He seemed beaten down, a part of him curled inwards somewhere. 

She wanted to see him smile again. Melancholy like a stream of bubbling water tried to rush over her again and she laid a hand on the side of his cheek, coaxing him into a kiss. His lips dowsed a soft warmth of pleasure through every inch of her skin, the tone of his quiet groan masculine, intimate, and unfiltered, humming through her mouth. 

It had sounded more relieved than sexual but arousal still twisted deep in her body, between her legs and towards the base of her spine, a keening reward of gratification; a great big golden yes! as soon as their connection met reality. Gripping his shirt, she leaned further into his arms as his lips met hers with slow devouring strokes. 

She realized he recovered from the surprise of her touch when his hold on her strengthened into something possessive and his lips prodded hers into an open-mouthed kiss, drowning her under a deep exchange of rhythm and wet affection. _‘Oh god…’_ Arguments meant nothing and distantly a thought wondered why they hadn’t sparked pleasure like this the whole time instead, her body trembling, before another one of his groans wiped coherent thought from the front of her mind. 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry I took longer with the update, this chapter was hard to write and I wanted to get it right, or at least attempt to lol. Hopefully it's not too awful but I can't tell by this point lol so here's the first version anyways. Thanks for reading!


	5. fool's gold

Her arms ended up wrapped around his neck, swamping coherent thought under sensation, under the physical relief of holding this girl.

Echoing their past few sessions, she kissed with slow, tender enthusiasm, adapting to his pace with ease. She mimicked the movements of his tongue, as if she’d done this before with someone else and a jealous burn enticed him to hold her tighter, kiss her deeper, until she drowned under her want for him; no outsiders. The steady quiet of the bathroom exposed all hints of girlish breath, seductive sounds that grabbed him with soaring ache and a faraway, rising urge to thrust forward into something, against something, into her.

One hand slid low on the small of her back and she let her weight fall into his front, a moan escaping the depths of her throat, humming through his lips. God she was sweet. God she was beautiful. He could imagine the curves of her spotless, delicate body writhing underneath him on a soft couch somewhere while she called him filthy names; He’d die to see her relinquish control under the power of a heavy orgasm. 

She brushed her hips against his and a frisson of sexual burn throbbed through his body, hardening his dick into aching, painful territory and he iron/willed himself to not grab her ass and pull her forward into a grind, and still a groan escaped him regardless, into her mouth. 

_‘Uh, that’s my dick there, sweets.’_ She’d notice its presence, oh definitely, mashed together like this. But she didn’t know -

Her front tilted into his again and he tried subtly angling his hips back from her lower half, his ass hitting the wall behind him. Dammit he wasn't soft enough for these virgin games. 

Their lips popped as she broke the kiss, their breathing heavy, a glassy look of desire glazing over her expression like a photogenic face from some classy nude magazine; nearly artful, hot enough to make him stop and cum on the pages. Faded hints of freckles peppered her nose. 

An intimate something crackled deep in his chest before she dipped her head to the side of his neck, and he felt the slow press of her kiss glide up his skin: once, twice, three-times, the swell of her lips sticking to him, leaving trails of blazing heat in her wake. His lids fell half closed as he let her do it, tilting his head to the side. _‘Hell yes.’_

Hints of mint and artificial sweetness like lip gloss lingered in his mouth, the mirror reflecting the strange vision of this girl wrapped in his arms, his worn jacket a pitiful sight against the creams of her gently used, brand name clothes. She was an echo of touching something off limits, a risk fueled by spite like swiping cash from a purse, and he’d never regret leaning into the whimsy of teasing her, getting to know her, not while she gently sucked on the side of his neck like this, cracking him open and sparking pain in his chest like an explosion of feeble, burning flares. Bad news, even if it felt good. Scratch that, it felt fucking _great._

She planted slow kisses along his jaw, finding his mouth again and sighing, a caress of breath against his face. He strengthened his hold on her waist and felt her hips jerk into his again, shooting white hot, rampaging ache through his body and he responded with an automatic roll his pelvis, a throbbing reaction and - ' _Shit!'_

She froze.. only to fold herself against him with a forward swerve of her hips and even through the barrier of his jeans the ecstasy pooled over him as loud as if they’d been fucking, bombarding his whole body and he shuddered, pressing back into her as he closed the tiny, buzzing vacancy between her open legs and his-

The bell rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, breaking their kiss and he leaned back before they knocked chins or noses. 

“Shit -”

He steadied her with a soft chuckle, his own nerves hammering in surprise. “Breathe, Claire.”

She clutched the collar of his shirt, steadying herself. “Sorry,” she whispered, smile self-conscious. Without relinquishing her hold on him, she reestablished a semblance of space between them as if recovering her senses. “I.. What’re we doing?”

He slid a hand off her waist, wiping smudged lipstick from the corner of her lips. Even his own voice sounded low and breathless. “We’re sucking face, sweets.”

The gesture surprised him and her also; he noticed the momentary pause in her breath. She laughed softly. “.. I know. I know that. I mean I’ve got to get back to class.. I shouldn't have skipped this long.”

So he was getting it right. He smirked. “Time flies when you’re having fun, huh?” 

Her countenance shimmered with happiness and already his libido ached for her return, his pulse throbbing down south like a loud, pounding reminder. He couldn’t believe he was here, alone with her again, with heartfelt flames shifting beneath his skin and she’d wet his hair with her tears. Apparently loneliness took no prisoners, not even sparing a princess. She had to be lonely, to fool around with a freak like him. 

A bizarre reflex cropped up but he let himself do it anyways: he cupped the side of her face in one hand and traced the bottom outline of her lips with his thumb. Internally somewhere he shivered, even as her cheek warmed his fingers. 

Her gaze trailed across his face, as if he were a book she wanted to read later, alone and in bed. “I’m beginning to think you’re full of surprises,” she mused, with a trace of a smile again. 

The weight of her affection clenched his chest with a cloying ache and he let his hand fall from her cheek. Fear sunk down in his gut, leaving bubbles of anxiety popping at the surface. “Funny,” he remarked, noncommittal. “I’ve been thinking the same thing about you.” 

_‘Don't say it.'_ Yet the words spewed from his mouth anyways, the beginnings of a sneer curled over his face.. “That reminds me. I hope you’re not doing all this kissing just to get free pot, beautiful. Cause I don’t work that way and it’s not happening.”

His snark warranted a flat look from her like ‘really?’ and she sighed again and untangled herself from his arms, the sudden absence of her body leaving him with a peculiar emptiness. “Uh, no.” She rolled her eyes, turning towards the mirror. “I do have some sense of self-respect y'know. I’m not making out with you for drugs.” 

For a moment he stared at her without comment, wracking his mind for a relevant reply, but her attitude sideswiped him with want. How in the hell had he gotten this chick? Oh right. A crack marred her self esteem somewhere, and she waltzed around school in her high heels, faking every sneer and smile. The richie kids were nothing but fakes. He wanted to add _‘You have self-respect, sweets? Are you sure?’_ but why shoot himself in the foot while he was ahead? Why hurt her feelings?

“Way to ruin the mood,” she sighed. “But I guess I’ve got to go back to class, anyway.”

She frowned at her own reflection while she tamed her hair, locks rustled around her cheekbones in careless waves, cheeks colored a rosy flush. Too disheveled for normal, guilt practically stamped on her face. He smirked at her through the smudged surface, proud of himself. 

“Am I holding you against your will?” he muttered, raising a brow. “If you wanna go, by all means.”

“Well, actually I don’t _want_ to,” she mumbled, and for a virgin she didn’t appear virginal at the moment, unwound and glowering at him like this. “But unfortunately the rest of us normal people have to go by the rules sometimes.”

He wondered how much convincing she’d need to do the lipstick trick again, shirtless and bra-less one day, the idea swamping him with unbearable levels of that same broiling desire. 

She noticed his attention but ignored it, peering at her reflection with jumbled concentration. “Get it together,” she grumbled, to herself he assumed, whether she meant to announce it out loud or not he didn’t know; Cute. “Angela’s gonna kill me for ditching," she groaned. "I didn’t think this through at all. I’m screwed.”

He laughed, halfway a scoff. “Your handmaidens will just wilt without you?”

She sent him and unimpressed glance. “No, but we had a class project to do together,” she chided. “I don’t like it either but we’re at school, remember? We’re supposed to be pretending to learn things.”

He moved to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, hands resting low on her middle. Something akin to affection clogged his baser intentions as he tugged her back against his front. “I wanna learn all about you, babe..”

“John..”

He couldn’t decipher if her look indicated interest or not, her stare hazy but watchful. Overwhelmed possibly. He tilted his head back, flipping strands of hair out of his face. “Should I stop?”

She grew quiet and rested her head back against his chest, absentmindedly fiddling with her nails. Her hair tickled his cheeks and if he dropped his eyes, he could see hints of lace on the edges of her lavender bra. Lace. His pulse thumped in his ears. 

He knew he felt vulnerable and the unyielding truth of the vulnerability squirmed through him, but at least her reflection mirrored a gentler version of his own discomfort. She was new to this, just as much as he was. Any other girl and he’d already have her moaning up against the wall but Claire wasn’t his usual type of lay and he hadn’t kissed for the sake of kissing in.. ages. 

“God, you’ve got lip prints on your neck,” she whispered. 

Light shined on traces of shimmer from her lipstick, a barely visible trail beneath his jawline. He smirked. “Good.”

She studied him with parted lips and he swore it was like she posed without posing, every unconscious movement beautiful, as if she possessed a secret grace regular people would forever live without. “You can’t walk around like that,” she mumbled, biting her lower lip. 

The gloss was too transparent on his skin to notice but still, he knew it was there. The smirk on his face grew, and he stared at her reflection in defiance. “Watch me.”

“It looks like someone’s been kissing all over you.”

He smirked, arrogant. “Cause you have.”

Her pupils dilated and anticipation swooped low in his stomach, echoing the first time he recognized the curiosity lurking beneath her scandalized demeanor, that initial rush of ‘damn.. she’s _into_ this’ on Saturday.

He couldn’t help himself. He leaned closer, soaking up her sudden breathless tension in his arms. His voice hovered by her ear, a taunting, dark whisper. “So.. are you wet now, Claire?”

He felt a single tremble pass through her body. “What?”

A bloom of red unraveled across her face. Flustered. Fuckin cute. He smiled and held her closer, ignoring the heat sprawling through him. “I believe you said.. what was it? ‘Wet and humiliated’ huh?”

His insides squirmed with want as she rolled her lip under her teeth, hesitation overtaking her shyness. The reflection of her gaze darted away from him. “.. Did I?” 

He gave her fake sympathy, a fake frown of disappointment. “I’m afraid so, yeah.”

She wriggled in his arms and he loosened his grip. She turned and faced him, fists pressed together against his collarbone. “It’s not my fault,” she pleaded. “Nobody’s ever talked to me that way and I um.. it’s not like I’m perverted or anything. It's your fault. You're the twisted weirdo."

He laughed and flipped his hair out of his eyes again. “Is sexual frustration a crime, sweets? But you’re right, it is my fault. Sorry to have shamed you in front of our respectable comrades. I was trying to help you out.”

“Yeah right.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared up at him with a small, exasperated smirk. “I think you mean you were trying to help yourself to my sex life. You were seducing me. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Seduce is a strong word but hey, who am I to ignore Shermer high’s angel? A virgin this long, those yuppie idiots must bore the hell out of you.” He mock-leered down at her, relishing his grip on her waist. “I thought maybe you wanted something different, something that feels good in a way that’s unfiltered and wrecks you with a bad, oh so guilty orgasm, with somebody who won’t dump you for one of your friends next week or tell you who you’re supposed to be.”

She seemed quietly enamored by his own words or expression or both, lids heavy, but still a tide of molten shame burned some of his bravado off and a part of him stung itself backwards. _‘Pathetic, you like her too much and she knows it.’_

Swallowing down the lump of unease in his throat, he unwrapped himself from her figure and took a single step back, letting the familiarity of his own solitary space smother him again. “Plus, I didn’t expect you to speak to me for more than five seconds,” he muttered, hands shoved in his pockets. “Let alone ask my name and spark up a conversation. Couldn’t let you get the wrong idea about me. I’m not a kiss-ass.”

Her look turned questioning. “Uh, trust me, you make that loud and clear.” She laughed quietly, harmless, pretty eyes skimming his demeanor. Even as he retreated to the other side of the bathroom, he could tell she had an automatic reaction to follow, as if they already moved through existence as a pair. “But I’m.. you know.. not standing here with you for no reason.” She looked away from him, shoulders rising. Shy. “You don’t have to convince me of anything.”

Butterflies did freakin roller sports in his stomach and he froze. “It was just a statement,” he quipped. “Anyone with sense can tell you look like a bored rich girl.”

She frowned, eyes flashing to his again, and he realized he’d say almost anything to keep her looking at him. “Bite me. Is it that obvious really? You swear you won’t tell anyone about this right?”

Worried about her precious reputation; Typical. He raised a brow. “You gonna tell everyone my old man beats my ass?”

He suppressed a flinch, a sharp freeze of embarrassment pouring over him, icing his lungs. Girls _adored_ when you whined to them about your shit-show of a family. What. A Dumbass. 

She spoke before he could backtrack. “No.. of course not,” she said, in her sweet-girl, soft voice. “You won’t say anything about my mom’s um, rehab problems either will you?”

He paused. In retrospect, he might’ve mentioned something about her drunk mother at one point, maybe during that argument before. Whoops. “No.”

“I’d never tell anyone about your.. home life, I swear.”

This was getting too much. He skidded his boot against the tile, streaking flecks of old mud across the floor. He’d rather chew glass than give anyone more rocks to stone him with and if he wanted to maintain a distance with her, well, he was doing a piss-poor job of it wasn’t he? His home life. He’d actually blabbed to a group of strangers about the fine, outstanding quality of his _home life_. 

She stepped towards him and he tensed as she looped her arms around his sides, the weird reality of her comfort washing over him and automatically he braced himself against the awkwardness. 

“So we’re friends then, right?” she breathed. 

Friends. A devious smile crept up on him and he met her gaze, head tilted to the side. “Friends. Sure.”

It was obvious by her demure expression she was about to say something far more interesting than his bitter thoughts. “I’ll tell you another secret okay?”

He almost laughed at himself for his own momentary hesitation to meet her eyes, as if he were inexperienced and shy with girls again. His gaze flicked to hers, relaxing slightly. “I’m all ears.”

Her lips blazed pink, echoing the flush that painted her cheeks. “At the time, a part of me wished Andy wouldn’t have stopped you,” she admitted. Her fingertips curled into a tighter hold at the back of his shirt. “You made me feel things I’d rather not feel, not with a sleazy asshole like you but then you poured your shit on me and I started picturing us alone somewhere together and I.. it was like I forgot other people were in the room for a minute and it was just us.”

He stared at her, emotion boiling in his stomach, crimson sparks of something hot and starving. He opened his mouth, shut it again, then settled on a lame statement. “Yeah.” 

“So I’m not crazy?”

“No.”

“That’s not even the worst of it,” she shrugged, toying with the seam of his jacket. “I dreamed about you Saturday night and.. honestly, it was just as perverted as you are.” 

It felt like she’d slung a brick into his chest. “Christ,” he breathed. “Care to share the dirty tidbits, sweets?”

Her straight face almost wavered into a smile as she held him tighter, the tips of her breasts pressing against his front. “Not yet. Maybe later, if you’re good to me.” 

His hands clutched the side of her hips, fingertips hovering near the soft borders of her backside. “You’re killing me,” he grinned, an ecstatic riot of nerves gripping him, hair falling into his eyes. “What a tease.”

“Shut up,” she whispered in a surge of breathy confidence. Her eyes pierced through him. “You like it.”

 _‘Who.. is this?’_ Heat stirred deep in the pits of his stomach. He’d do anything to get friction grinding between them once again, damn she was _gorgeous._

Shyness crept up on her again. “Hey.. I can’t say I’d hate it if you kissed me one more time. Y’know, before I go back to class and everything.”

He chuckled. “I can’t say I’d hate it either, Cherry.”

Her gaze slid between his eyes and lips and he let himself fall into the crackling, magnetic pull between him and this pretty stranger, who he knew but didn’t know. Their lips met and ignited a current of feelings, relief trickled into the cracks of him, as relentless as the first time and a distant part of himself chimed a warning: Nothing this good comes without a price. 

_'Who cares. Drown out all the noise for me, Princess. I wanna sink down and breathe under you for a while.'_


	6. soul of pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning, bleak homelife chapter ahead! additional cw warnings: violent language, mentions/depictions of abuse and trauma, gun mentions, unhealthy food attitudes, delinquency, self harm, derealization, marijuana drug dealing, etc.  
> And I do not claim to own any of the media quotations sprinkled in this chapter, obvs.

So... maybe her talk with John had spiraled off course, slightly out of control. Maybe their talk had morphed into something else.

The lamp at her desk illuminated her homework with drowsy light, and she stared down at the pink slip lurking across her notebook. Mrs. Miller’s writing filled out the blanks on the form: Claire Standish. 3/27/84. Detention. Deliberate class absence. Parental signature:

Brain fog covered her senses. She rested her head in one hand, elbow propped up against her desk. Angela and Rachel had forgiven her for ditching, at least on the surface, but Mrs. Miller hadn’t taken her fib about wasting away in the bathroom from a bad lunch. Her pout had gotten her nowhere.

_“‘I’m sorry Claire but if you felt sick you should’ve asked to see the nurse,” the teacher chided, her frown more tired than unkind. “Otherwise it looks like skipping. so unfortunately there’s nothing I can do. Make better decisions next time. Get your parents to sign.”_

She tapped her pencil against her notebook paper, eyes drifting closed. Study, catch up with everyone between classes, study some more, clubs, dance practice at the Arts center, come home and catch up with Rachel and Jenny on the phone, dinner, homework, and tomorrow, rinse and repeat. Exhausting. Endless. But that’s life right? It would all mean something eventually right? Of course she loved dancing, she loved her friends too but..

“George darling, if you’re staying out all night again, why don’t you just order a room and stay gone?”

She’d forgotten to close her bedroom door. Claire sighed, eyes stinging as she opened them, peering down at the text of her homework assignment without reading the words.

Her father’s resigned voice drifted up the stairs. “I’d rather you not start in on the guilt trips. I had to stay late at the firm, you know that. You were so out of it you wouldn’t have noticed me come in. You wouldn’t have noticed if a robber busted through the door.”

“Well excuse me. Most people are asleep at three in the morning. Not out drunk and driving the streets.”

“You’re the one drunk in front of our daughter all the time, Sherry.”

Wow, like it even mattered at this point. At least mom didn’t bother to try to hide her problems from her like Claire was stupid, like she didn’t know her father drank bourbon alone in his study every night. She rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to her book.

_‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.’_

A sharper tone of protest: “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I wouldn’t drink so much if you stayed home with your family like a real husband?”

How was she even supposed to finish this chapter while they spewed their total bullshit? She sighed, her feet protesting with a throbbing ache as she slid her chair out from her desk and drug herself across the room, cursing her sour life and her parent’s weird obsession with arguments.

“Everything’s always my fault isn’t it?” Her father quipped. “I guess I was there with you when you were sixteen and drinking.”

She was only half listening by the time she marched into the hall and hovered at the top of the steps, the banister cold under her fingertips. “Can you guys please shut up,” she snapped. “I’m trying to study.”

Her father stood near the threshold of the doorway downstairs, dressed to go out despite the late hour, keys in hand. “Sweetheart,” he sighed. “You don’t have to use that tone.”

She rolled her eyes, losing patience. “Well I’m sorry but I’m trying to do my homework here hello? And I can’t think with the two of you yelling.”

“What’s the matter?” Her mom’s voice sniffled from her distant corner of the sunroom. “Her homework?”

Claire crossed her arms, glaring up at the ceiling. “Yes Mom, homework. And you guys are so loud even if I close my door I can still hear you. Can you please go argue at the other end of the house, seriously?”

“I’m sorry, honey. I’ll leave you to your studies.” Her father dragged a hand across his face, a pinch of alarm stinging her when she noticed the disheveled cast of his appearance, bags under his eyes. “I’m leaving for the evening, anyway.”

She huffed. “But dad I-”

“Your grades last semester were great, keep it up.” He smiled at her one more time before he backtracking toward the door, inching towards the hallway leading to the garage. “Oh, and I added an extra something on the card this week in case you need it. In case your mother forgets about your allowance again.”

Her mom’s voice cracked into a loud whimper and Claire felt a wince rattle through her at the sound. “At least.. at least Claire knows I care! I bother to spend time with her every week! You’re a miserable hypocrite and an alcoholic and I hope you leave and never come back!”

This was exactly why Claire couldn’t have her friends over anymore, not unless she wanted to gag and keel over in embarrassment. “Ugh!” She turned and retreated down the hallway, stomping across the vanilla carpet. “You guys don’t listen to me _at all!”_

The door slam echoed through the hall with all its high ceilings, but if anyone stopped to notice it she didn’t know. Minutes later, from the view of her bedroom window, she saw the flash of headlights and the back end of a retreating BMW.

_‘He doesn’t care. What else is new?’_

_~_

* * *

~

Downstairs, the cries swelled into a loud volume, a half empty bottle of Merlot lingering by slender fingertips.

Claire sighed, too tired to ruminate in anything beyond pity by this point. At least the wine glasses remained on the table with minimal spillage over the glass surface. She was getting sick of cleaning up their shit, but the thought of their housekeeper stumbling upon the remnants of their dirty habits always left a humiliated burn in her stomach.

Light drenched her mom’s pale, strawberry blonde hair dingy green as she cried face down in the pillows. Claire expected this fallout honestly; a woman had left a weird flirty message on the answering machine yesterday, and her parents had been feuding over it ever since.

She chose a seat in front of the coffee table and tossed her folder of homework near her mom’s crossword puzzle, tucking her legs to one side on the ivory leather. She stared down at her hands, waiting, playing the game of patience. It was funny that after all these years she still felt a vague helpless unease whenever her mother cried, the same as whenever her father sat alone in his study with his hands resting over his face. But she was too old to beg for their attention.

The sound of a single drenched sniffle finally made her look up from the chips in her fingernail polish. She frowned, sympathy and irritation spinning together into an invasive combo. “Mom... why don’t you go to bed?”

She stirred and sat up, grasping the side of her head as if she had a carousel spinning around in her skull. “I know, I am honey,” she sighed. “It’s just your father has me a little upset.”

She regarded her mother with silence like the buoyancy of her detachment was sinking. “Maybe you should sleep in here tonight, or the guest room,” she said. “The stairs aren’t a great idea.”

“I know dear.” People with artificial smiles danced on the screen, and she rubbed the side of her temples, frowning at the TV. “I don’t want to sleep upstairs. Coming back from St. Martin was a mistake.”

_‘Then why don’t you call it quits and get it over with?’_

Claire swiped an irritating lash from her eyes, senses bogged down by an urge to sleep and drift away from the situation. Her lush satin pillows beckoned to her from her bedroom, she needed to go to bed because she had actual responsibilities, like school and beauty sleep. “Oh, I almost forgot..” she mumbled, leaning forward. She opened her folder and pulled out the top sheet. “Can you sign this?”

She slipped the form towards her, a bright page with blocky letters that begged for disgruntled parental cursive. “It’s for school.”

“Sure honey.” Her mother reached for her pen, oblivious. Claire’s palms began to sweat. She felt a quick flash of guilt squirm through her but only long enough for relief to replace it; A weekend of isolation was a social buzzkill, and it wasn’t her fault her parents forgot to pay attention to her when they acted like this.

Her mother signed the page without reading it.

“So..” she sniffled. “Sweetie, when are you going to tell me about this new boy your father’s so concerned about?”

She pretended like she hadn’t heard her question and examined her fingertips. “My nails are _so_ grody,” she complained. “I need a trip to the salon for sure.”

Her mom leaned back against the couch, watching the television. “Me too,” she murmured, tone drowsy. “We’ll go Friday after school. How does that sound? Before your birthday?”

She wiped her slick palms on her jeans. Gross. A bad, outdated habit. “My birthday’s in October, Mom.”

She chuckled. “That’s right. It’s late, dear. I’m thinking of-”

“You’re thinking of Shawn, yeah.” She sighed and rose to her feet, straightening the sideways family photograph next to her on the end table. Her younger self, her brother and her parents smiled back at her together from the bright countryside of Roussillon, in Cote d’Azur. That had been the summer she'd fallen off her aunt’s Palomino and sprained her ankle, and Shawn had lagged behind his own friends to cheer her up. He could’ve been chasing dates but instead chose to sit and build blanket forts with his kid sister, because he didn’t want her last summer before junior high to be filled with restless loneliness.

She tried to ignore the predictable sting of tears. It really sucked, the void of his absence. He had his own life but.. god he’d left her alone to deal with their parent’s crap.

On television the spotlight twinkled over rings, an antique Art Deco piece, emeralds and tourmaline. The salesperson gushed over a necklace of champagne diamonds. '"..diamonds won’t keep you warm at night, but they’re sure fun when the sun shines."' How could Elizabeth Taylor be wrong?

The image of John’s startled expression flashed across her thoughts. Maybe one day he’d pawn the earring to get himself out of a bind, she didn’t know how much they were worth honestly but in the moment she’d just wanted him to feel like he had more to his name than Marlboro cartons and hopelessness.

“I’m going to bed.” Emotion coated the insides of her chest like despairing, unwanted sludge. “I’m tired. You should get some sleep, seriously.”

“Goodnight sweetheart.” The volume increased on the TV and sometimes Claire wondered if she needed the background chatter to dispel the silence of the house. “You’ve got to tell me about your new boyfriend when we go to the salon this week okay, don’t forget.”

She collected her school stuff, ignoring the heat spreading through her face. “Goodnight.”

Her mother zoned back into her programme without additional comment. Her dad complained about the amount of money she spent, ordering pots and pans that they never used, and jewelry and cosmetics. But what did he spend his paycheck on that was so great? She just hoped her mom was a bit out of sorts from the drinking and not.. y’know.. the sleeping pills. Valliums or whatever. A whole additional loaded subject she was sick of hearing about.

She left her mom to bask in the shadow of late night television. Her stomach grumbled when she got to the stairs and she paused, contemplating a quick trip to the kitchen but.. maybe it was too late in the evening for carbs.

_'"Claire? Oh it's a fat girl's name.'"_

_'"You’re fucking gorgeous. Just so you know.'"_

_'"God you're so pathetic, don't you ever, **ever** compare yourself to me okay?"'_

_'"I thought I was dreaming when you kissed me."'_

_'“I already said I’d fuck you. What the hell else do you want from me?”'_

God if her father ever heard how he talked to her he’d have a freakin cow. He hadn’t been thrilled when he picked her up from on Saturday either.

“Uh, sweetheart..” He laughed uneasily after she’d slid into the seat and shut the door without comment. “Did you make a new friend in detention? Who’s that?”

She peered into the side mirror, an ache gnawing in her chest the further they got away from John, the outline of his lone silhouette shrinking into the distance. Somehow it stung her to think of how she’d stepped out of the car this morning totally clueless, returning to the cab of father’s BMW a changed person. She was Claire Standish, the same, but also different now, she could feel it somehow and things were heavier than before.

“What? Oh.” She tore her gaze off the mirror, slumping her head back against the seat. Everyone had pulled off with their rides, leaving John alone under gray skies and forgotten in the parking lot and a part of her had kept wondering: nobody was coming to pick him up? His parents let him wander the streets like an orphan or something?

She stared out the window, avoiding her father’s concerned glances. “That was just John,” she mumbled.

“John.. John who?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her arms crossed over her chest as she angled her posture towards the door. They hadn’t even turned off the road to the school yet, and he’d wasted no time pestering her about the kiss, like she knew he would, he was going to bug her to death about it probably. “Please don’t butt into my business right now, ok?” She pleaded. “Just don’t.”

She was glad she’d gone for it anyways, kissing John; screw everyone else. If she wanted him in her life she’d have him, she always got what she wanted and she doubted she’d ever forget the awestruck look on John’s face when she handed him the earring, staring at her in blatant disbelief like he’d just won a million dollars. It wasn’t like she had planned to jump into a new complicated relationship with someone in detention.. but, he stole a piece of her heart somehow and she’d let him keep it for a while or.. forever. Forever, yeah, the same as a diamond.

She sighed, a zigzag of sadness cracking through her chest. Maybe she missed him already. A part of her had wanted to irritate her father with him but now it only felt like she’d stung herself in the process. She was never that good at staying detached from her feelings. God she hoped she’d made an impression.

Her father was garnering up the strength to argue. “Well honey it’s..” he sighed. “It’s concerning. He didn’t look like a promising young man, to say the least. And since when do we kiss boys in the street, young lady? Is that how your mother and I raised you?”

He’d trailed off into a hint of seriousness and she peered down at the floorboard, her sense of shame half feigned, half real. _‘Yeah I kissed a guy in front of you dad. You and mom refuse to believe for some reason that I’m not a little girl anymore.’_

“Besides.. I doubt his family holds any sort of investment.”

She glared at him sideways. “So?”

He used that god awful coddle tone she hated, as if she were five years old or something. “He looks like he doesn’t have much going for him, sweetheart. Like he doesn’t have any money and I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

Shame rolled in her stomach and she cut her eyes to the ceiling, genuinely irritated now. “God dad, why’re you so shallow? You sound like.. like you’re just full of yourself and I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Please drop it.”

Oh, John was poor so she couldn’t talk to him? Couldn’t kiss him? What-ever. The way her parents acted, they better not say a word to her about her relationships. Two pigeons on the streets of Chicago probably conducted themselves with better class, and birds crapped everywhere. They did whatever the hell they wanted.

Maybe she would slip into the kitchen and steal a bagel. One single bagel and..not like anyone would notice, maybe a sip of Merlot.

~

* * *

~

Someone was cooking.

The smell smacked him in the face as soon as he crossed the threshold, the warm flavoring in the air twisting his stomach with hunger that neared the potency of his weighted dread.

The garage door remained shut outside, burnt colors of the setting sun throwing shadows across oil stains in the vacant driveway, and he’d cursed himself when he remembered he was supposed to have pressure washed the concrete.. by Tuesday. Shit.

He shut the door and eyed the direction of the kitchen and the clanking sounds of his mom stirring dinner together in a pot. Sauntering through the living room, he passed the recliner wedged like a busted throne in front of the TV, stepping over the piles of dirty clothes strewn across the hallway, and meandered into the kitchen.

His mom gave him a sideways glance as she pulled a meatloaf out of the oven. “Johnny,” she mumbled. “I was wondering where you were.”

Frowning, he swallowed down a sharp ‘oh, were you?’ and maneuvered around the table to open the fridge and grab a drink.

“It’s late.”

He shrugged. “I was busy.”

“Well since you’re here now you can sit your ass down at the table and have dinner with us. It should be done in about twenty minutes.”

To his left, a golden casserole beckoned next to a bowl of peppered, bacon flavored green beans and his stomach protested in another empty lurch. “What’s the occasion?” he grumbled.

He stepped out of the way and stood by their rickety kitchen table as she leaned over the counter and pulled a stack of dishes out of the cupboard. “They gave your father overtime so the power won’t get shut off this week. I thought it’d be nice to celebrate.”

He downed half his can of Coke and released a belch. “Swell...” he sneered. “So I guess he gets a paycheck and suddenly we’re on an episode of 'Leave it to Beaver?'”

She sent him a quick glower over her shoulder, a warning, and made room for the bread rolls next to the meatloaf on their limited counter space. Stains blotted the nearby pan holders, the things had to be older than dust by now. “I thought it’d be nice to eat together like a family for once,” she grumbled. “So don’t start in with the fucking jokes, smartass. You’re not funny. Eat with us.”

A deep voice boomed at the back of his head, a warning, a memory: _‘You better eat Johnny, or I swear I’ll clout your ass backwards.’_

Slouching against the wall, his own dark reflection glared back at him from across the kitchen, in the black surface of the microwave. She’d gotten it for Christmas last year but couldn’t use it, wasn’t allowed. A morbid thought jammed him with the idea that the four corners squeezing in on him with its yellow walls stained by time and years of Marlboro smoke didn’t exist anywhere at all and meant jack shit, not to him or to anything else or to anyone. Maybe one day the stove would catch fire and they’d all choke in their sleep, but no, he couldn’t get that lucky. What difference would it make? Couldn’t even use the microwave without getting called lazy slobs who poisoned his food on purpose. Yeah dad, it’d be great to watch you keel over and choke to death on a toxic hambone but I don’t think the microwave’s gonna be your assassin, you mother-fucking delusional wacko. This place was a mirrored funhouse in hell, (he was sick of it, too old for mind games) where nothing was real, and an uncanny feeling enjoyed nagging him about the fact that he was nothing anymore but a warped reflection. _'Warped, sick, nothing. Pathetic. Scream in an open field if you want to you brat but you’re still always gonna be worthless’_.

Cold beats glistened in a bowl on the table like a dark clot of innards. He crushed his can in a fist and hurled it into the trash, a miasma of anxiety churning in his stomach.

“Alright well, have fun serving that big Godzilla piece of shit.” His tone was razor thin, like it belonged to someone else and didn’t care to be real. “Not gonna spend my entire night getting screamed at for daring to breathe in his direction, but you do you. I’m going out.”

Predictably she turned on him with feral irritation, this time her tone possessing true vitriol. “What would you like me to do about it huh? Pack up my mink coats and run off to Chicago? You’re so goddamn ungrateful Johnny and I’m sick of it, I’m sick of your attitude and that big fat mouth!”

“I do whatever the fuck I want just like everybody else.” He ignored her glare and fished for his lighter in his pants pocket with swelling irritation. Jesus it’d be great if he owned a pair of jeans without holes in the pockets. “Oh and you forgot to add that I’m stupid, nothing and a freeloader,” he added, mocking. “C’mon, why break the pattern now?”

“Knock it off.” She sent him one last glower before she turned her back and walked over to the sink. “I’ve never called you that malarkey in your life so maybe you should just cut down on the dope.”

To this day he didn’t know why she had to call pot ‘dope’ like it was fucking smack. Dramatic bitch. He glared at her sideways as she rinsed off the dishes. “Yeah I’m done with this conversation, so piss off.”

A slap of water hit him in face. Lukewarm. Droplets trickled down his eyelashes, down his nose. Instability seared behind his esophagus like a torrent of molten lead, and he watched her scrub the insides of an empty cup without recognition.

“Out!” She fumed, half-ass sounding like a man cause she smoked too much. “If you can’t act like a nice, normal child for one night then just _get out!_ ”

He laughed, a sound vomited up by the tangled vacancy in his chest. “You have **zero** idea what normal is, let me tell you.” He drug a hand down across his face, drying his skin, feeling a million years old. “And I’m not a child either so. You’re delusional.”

“Get out. I’m serious. You can come back when you figure out how to stop being such a smartass.”

Eyes clenched shut against the anger, he clutched the back of the kitchen chair, the ridges in the wood digging into his palm. He smelled like goddamn dish detergent now, fantastic. At least it wasn’t dirty water and -

“Get out!”

Pain flared in his mouth and he tasted copper, the back edge of his tongue stinging from a gnash between his molars. Dammit he just needed _five seconds_ to breathe and nobody ever gave him an inch.

“Here’s your cigarettes.” He chewed the inside of his cheek, dumping the pack on the table along with half his spare change, a quarter and some pennies. “If you could reinstate that ten bucks you owe me soon that’d be great.”

She turned her back to him, shoulders slumped and diminishing her stature into an early shade of an old woman in the bad light, and she went back to scrubbing dishes. As a kid he remembered sitting by her knee at her tiny vanity while she set her hair into rollers, thinking _‘why can’t I be you? Why do I have to look like him?’_

“I’ll set it out on the counter tomorrow,” she grumbled.

Expelling an irritated sigh, he kicked the chair back under the table. “Try not to forget, seriously. I’ve got shit to do. I-”

“It depends on how your father feels.”

Of fuckin course. “Nevermind,” he snapped. No point in making her grovel at the beast, he might as well have tossed that ten bucks down a fuckin wishing well.

He heard the rumble of a car pull into the driveway, an old Ford with a sputtering exhaust.

A cold zap of fear iced his senses. His feet backtracked into the threshold of the hall, the dingy refrigerator and counter tops shrinking away from him before he even registered the movement of his legs.

He grabbed a pack of knockoff pop tarts off the edge of the table. “Listen, when I call later, answer the goddamn phone for once. I’m serious.”

She didn’t bother to turn back and look at him, shoulders slumped, either defeated or barricaded up into neutrality. “If I’m awake I will. And I’ll put the leftovers in the green Tupperware bowls. Grandma’s.”

He peered at her one last time. _‘I can’t stand you. I can’t stand this. I can’t stand being here.’_ But why waste his breath? She was a brick wall, alone, the rest of the world a billion apathetic ears. He was too old to stand here and cry with her in the kitchen. Pointless. “Yeah I know.”

Keys jangled in the front door and a block of dread punched him low in the gut. He hadn’t pressure washed the driveway. **_'You didn’t pressure wash the driveway. You didn’t pressure wash the driveway. You didn’t - you didn’t - the driveway-'_**

He turned and high tailed his ass towards the direction of his bedroom at the end of the house, laughing at his own cowardice under his breath. Afraid of him after all this time. What, would he crawl through his window to escape like an overgrown shadow of a terrified brat?

It was fine. Time to book it to the record store with Charley and Anthony and his cousin Trish and swipe an album or two. Catch a buzz in the parking lot, crash at Bobby’s house with a cheap pizza, and sleep off the stress for a couple’a hours. The phantom of an inward caving pressure between his chest and his stomach meant nothing and it was all gonna be peachy. So what if he was an ungrateful smartass?

_'Life’s nothing but a continuous dark joke but I’m always the bad guy for laughing huh? Figures. Who made up the rules for this shit?’_

Resentment continued to scald him after he’d slammed his door shut and hurled his school crap into the pile of clothes on the floor, flopped on his bed, and listened for the impending sign of the old man’s work boots to stomp down the hallway into the bathroom. Once he heard the shower flip on he’d take off down the street. The same old waiting game and it was fine. 

Sprawled on his back staring up at the ceiling, his thumb traced the outline of the rock in his earlobe, for half a moment reminding himself of it's existence. 

His folks would die to have this diamond. His ma already guilt tripped the fuck out of him for things and his old man was worse. _‘You got a job now, son?’ Where’s the paycheck? Don’t tell me you think you can lie up in my house with money and not pay bills. Who do you think you are, king of the castle?’_

Food held as much appeal as the thought of munching on playdoh but he tore the wrapper off his stolen pop tarts anyway and forced himself into taking a bite. He needed some form of substance before he heaved bloody saliva and grilled cheese bits all over the pavement outside.

His mouth tasted like artificial fruit. Cherry flavored. Ha ha.

~

* * *

~

The back of his arm rested over his eyes, blocking out the hazy overhead light. A headache thumped behind his temples as he smoked his last cigarette, relishing the taste down to the filter.

The top layer of skin on his knuckles stung like a raging bitch..maybe he shouldn’t have taken his rage out on a tree in his front yard after he left the house, busting up his fists and scaring the shit out of all the local feral cats while the neighbor children stared at him like he was a freakshow. Free entertainment kids! They laughed and he couldn’t really blame them.

_‘Congrats. Dumbass.’_ But hey, whatever. Just another lovely day in the neighborhood.

Pain pounded away in his head like a distant second heartbeat and his body protested as he leaned over and ashed his cigarette in an empty can of Mr. Pibb. Tree:1 Bender:0.

Music drifted up from downstairs and his friends blared the radio in the kitchen, a Ratt guitar riff shredding over the existence of mike’s sister’s bullshit. Nobody wanted to play cards to new wave pop honey, thanks, it sounded just peppy enough to make him want to blow his head off.

Claire probably listened to some overproduced sugary crap like that, but honestly he’d put up with it, for the chance to see her dance again.. and.. yeah. His day had been shit as usual except for the stolen moments of kissing her in the bathroom at school, he had to do better than pathetic schoolyard handholding like nerds but how was he supposed to have known she’d actually...

He exhaled from his cigarette and watched the smoke get chopped into wispy pieces by the ceiling fan.

A part of him hoped their connection would’ve sizzled out by Monday. He was nobody’s boyfriend, he’d join the color guardians or whatever at school and prance around with streamers before anyone claimed him as their personal doormat. But Claire. .man. she didn’t have much experience, definitely, but a prude? Hell no. Things had gotten heated between them again and they practically had to pry themselves away from each other to go back to class and fuck he should’ve remembered to get her number. His memory sucked ass.

Tomorrow if she laced her fingers between his again would she notice of his hint of a wince? He pictured her face, dark eyes wide with worry as she grasped his hand in her own, peeling off the glove with tender care and covering his fist between her two velvety-soft palms. And somewhere in a dark room alone together with her bare body laid across to his, she’d trail her fingers through his hair and whisper: “What happened? Are you all right? I want you. Please John. You mean the world to me now. Please.”

The phone’s wail cut through his daydream, interrupting the conversation and the motley chaos of background music. It rang twice before Michael’s sister yelled from the basement: "Mikey! Answer the goddamn phone!"

He felt the heat of a blush stew behind his face. Dammit. This was so stupid. Claire, Claire, Claire. All about Claire Standish, just like she preferred, and here he was sucked into swooning over her the same way as any other moron at school. Could he act any more like a girl?

“MIKE!”

“All right you freak I’m working on it!” Micheal threw his cards face down on the table and jerked up from his seat, turning the radio down. “Cut your trash off so I can fucking hear myself thanks!”

Mike received another ‘fuck you’ from his sister and her homely community college girlfriends and Bobby and Paul laughed to themselves. John still didn’t quite get how Mike hadn’t gone bonkers from his family yet, Sandra was hot enough to scope out but she reigned over the house like an unchecked psycho, and his friend’s face was blazingly frustrated as he jerked the phone off the hook. “What? Oh. Hey. Yeah?”

He took that as a cue to peel himself off the couch, ignoring the ache in his muscles and the squeak of the upholstery cover as he sat up against the cushions. He had to try to get his shit together if he wanted peace of mind, the relief of having at least a few bills in his wallet.

When he finally dragged his tired carcass into the kitchen, he noticed his friends were still caught in a long game of cards. The clerk at the record store had thrown them all out in the street and as far as he knew they were still banned from the corner gas station soo..maybe everyone was in a slump, and they made room for him at the table without busting his chops about anything.

Michael was already having a bad time on the phone. “What? No you idiot, no I don’t have it. Why would I? Stop leaving your crap at my house and you wouldn’t have to worry about it. Hang on someone’s on the other line. Hello? Yea what?”

“Hey man.” Bobby patted him on the back as he slumped his weight down into the chair. “You alive?”

“As alive as ever,” he mumbled, propping his elbows up on the table and resting his face in his hands. He rubbed his eyes. “Got a fuckin migraine.”

“Oh.” Bobby packed his camels against the inside of his thumb. “I get that shit all the time. Too many cigarettes.”

“Probably.”

“Hey. Bender.” Michael leaned behind his shoulder, hand covering the receiver. “Tim wants to know if you’ll front him a quarter,” he said.

_'These broke fuckin assholes.'_ “Uh, no, do I look like the loan company? Tell’em I said green for green, Timmy. Twenty-five bucks.”

Mike went back to the phone. “He said twenty-five bucks.” 

John rolled his eyes. He dug out his scales from his back coat pocket, irritated by the fact that he’d left his black book bag in his room before his flight from the house and so this evening, everyone was getting extra large sandwich bags from Mike’s pantry and nobody better say a damn word to him about it. 

A few of his regular fish might bite. He needed the money, he needed the gas money cause somehow he doubted the Princess wanted to sit and wait around on the bus, making pained small talk with him over the smell of piss on the sidewalk. If Claire expected them to hang out at any point in time, he had to make an attempt to not come off as a complete and utter plebeian.

Micheal hung up the phone. “You’ll never believe this shit, Nate forgot where he left his dad’s .45. What a dumbass.”

John cackled. “You’re shitting me.”

“Man. That’s sad man.” Paul shook his head. “Why would he do that? That’s so..man, he’s toast, goddamnit and I thought I finally found a drummer who shows up for practice.”

Mike blew out a cloud of smoke and plopped down at the table. “He thinks he left it at that party at Stephanie’s.”

“Trying to impress the babes with it huh? But he can’t even load it. A real tough guy." John heaved a sigh. "Idiot, for the love of Christ somebody go help him out before his old man puts him twelve feet under.”

~

* * *

~

And hour until freedom. It felt like he’d never see the good side of 2:00 ever again but at last it was finally time to slink his hide back into the storage closet before Dick the Prick caught him intermingling in the library with the nice, acceptable schoolchildren. Dorks.

Except..hovering by the door with him stood the Princess. She leaned against the wall beside him like that was just the average ordinary cool thing to do, twiddling with the edges of her fingernails, sending him doe eyed glances that screamed ‘I want to say something but I’m shy.’ And he didn’t exactly know how to interpret this information.

They’d had some sort of thing going until he’d opened his big mouth like usual and slaughtered her feelings along with any chance of getting her number. But maybe it was better this way, because c’mon be realistic, he never had a sliver of a chance to start with. How could a freak like him compete with the rich sellouts who drove foreign cars?

She cleared her throat quietly, and a somersault flipped through his stomach. “I..I wanted to tell you I’m sorry about what Andy said to you,” she whispered, peering up at him. “It’s not true. If you disappeared.. I’d notice.”

His brows furrowed and a weird rush soared in his chest. She was sorry. Why would she say that? Sporto was the one who’d said it, anyway. Why would she apologize to him? He’d called her pathetic and useless or whatever, dragged her through the dirt like all kinds of trash because _he_ was trash and.. she.. was apologizing?

“Don’t be sorry sweets.” A muted chuckle escaped him and he took a single step towards her, forcing himself to meet her eyes, and he ignored the shock of tingly feelings when her expression softened into something raw and hopeful. “Do me a favor,” he mumbled. “Don’t take anything I said to heart all right? You’re not.. _that_ bad of a person. I’m an asshole. So. Yeah. Just forget it. Promise me you won’t start slipping now and let a burner get into your head?”

Her mouth quirked into a hint of a smile and she nodded, the tension dropping from her shoulders. He swore her look promised hints of beckoning interest, but maybe this bought of wishful thinking had knocked his logic sideways. She was just being nice. She was being sympathetic cause he put on a huge drama show about his own shitty life in front of her and she probably thought he was pathetic, loserville central. But she was so freakin sincere in her niceness and the creamy scent of flowers drifted over him with the emotional weight of a song and he’d do anything to kiss her, just once, and imprint the taste of her mouth on his memory.

_‘She’s way out of your paygrade, bucko. Stop it.’_

He laughed when he realized they’d been staring at each other again, laughing at himself, and he flashed a mellowed grin at her like a secret and she smiled back at him and he rolled in the shared moment of awkward giddiness. This was so freaking awkward. He was trying to get at _Claire Standish_ for crying out loud.

“So..” He watched her amusement mellow as he peeled himself out of her space, and no amount of teasing could replace the satisfaction he got from this exchange, this girl staring after him with unspoken words like he meant something. Maybe she wanted him, at least a little bit. He guessed she felt lawless without her bitchy friends around.

_‘Who knows.’_

“Bye Cherry,” he smiled, soaking in one last look at her hopeful face, disappointment nagging him to stick around just a second longer. But he had to get back before the resident prison guard wrung his neck. “See ya around.”

Her smile hinted at mischief. “Bye John.” Not Bender, _John_ , like something had shoved them beyond acquaintance terms and into friendlier territory together and wait, she’d said.. she’d said if he disappeared, she’d notice?

He almost blurted out, ‘It’s crazy it’s like you make me wish detention would never end, beautiful’ but he shut his trap. She read something in his expression though because her dewy skin flushed pink and he grinned at her for the final time, fuck he didn’t wanna leave her vicinity and damn that was such a bad, bad sign. “Bye Claire,” he teased, voice quiet. “See you in the hallways sweetheart.”


End file.
